


All the King's Horses and All the Kingsman

by NotSimplySusurrus



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Gay, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Painful Sex, Shower Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSimplySusurrus/pseuds/NotSimplySusurrus
Summary: The Master attempts to "fix" the Doctor after a bout of gory murder sprees the Doctor cannot control or remember (a la the movie Kingsman, hence the title) wherein the cause of these "episodes" is closer to home than the Doctor realises.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Kudos: 41





	All the King's Horses and All the Kingsman

**Author's Note:**

> Who knew global pandemics weren't conducive to fic writing? I certainly...found that out very quickly. Sorry for being off on my posting schedule and also that this is quite depressing. The next up on the slate for publishing is much less depressing and (thankfully) nearly finished. 
> 
> As always, love some good, old fashioned feedback.

Blood was all he could see—the Doctor didn’t think he’d ever seen quite this much blood in all his years of living—but it was _everywhere_. The tips of his fingers up to his mid-forearm, once porcelain skin was now crimson. Red spots here and there continued to dry and crack as he gaped at the sight before him, and a terrifying voice in the back of his head quipped that it looked like someone had painted the whole room with a giant brush, right down the middle. So fucking red.

A metallic clank startled the Doctor, only for him to look down and find that a knife had hit the floor—a knife he had been holding only moments before. The Doctor wanted to scream; he wanted to cry; but most of all, he wanted to feel something—anything—but this numb shock. He thought about picking the knife back up and cutting himself to confirm that what he was experiencing wasn’t some sort of twisted dream, but before he could manage it, he heard a voice coming from outside the door.

“Doctor?” The sound was muffled at first, on the other side of the room. “Doctor!” The door swung open to reveal the Master, panting as if he’d ran the whole way there. He bent over a moment to catch his breath before he was able to take in the gory sight before him.

“What is wrong with me?” The Doctor whispered, collapsing down onto his knees. The resulting pain let the Doctor know that he was awake. Everything before him was real. He was the cause of the corpses littered around him. He was the owner of the giant brush. He was the one who painted the room red.

“Bloody hell…oddly appropriate, considering the circumstances.” The Master said with a sly grin. He enjoyed seeing the Doctor like this—out of control, terrified, and on his knees. He was surprised, what with this image of the Doctor and the metallic scent of blood in the air, that he didn’t pop a boner then and there, but there would be time for that later. There always was. “Have you been taking your medication like I told you to?” The Master asked.

“Of course, Master,” the Doctor said. After the very first time the Master had found the Doctor like this, the Doctor was all too willing to accept whatever so-called ‘help’ that the Master offered. First it was pills—only Rassilon knew where he got them…or what effect they had. Next came what the Doctor was informed would be ‘therapy’ but played out more like interrogation. He was to tell the Master every remotely bad thing he’d ever done, every negative thought he’d ever had, every person he’d ever hurt…the Doctor had years and years worth of confessing to do. On the third or fourth ‘therapy’ session, the Doctor revealed that he felt he deserved to hurt for all the bad things he’d said and done and thought.

That was the final component of the Master’s ‘treatment’ plan. He was all too happy to hurt the Doctor—to scratch that sadistic itch that had been burning in the depths of his soul ever since he first heard those infernal drums. They referred to it as a number of things: ‘repentance’, ‘blowing off steam’, ‘an outlet’.

“I’ll give you more, just in case you forgot. You’re becoming rather forgetful these days.” The Master collected the Doctor from the floor and led him out of the red-soaked room. “Then we’ll clean you up and have a chat. How does that sound?”

“I don’t even remember…” Tears welled up in the Doctor’s eyes as the reality of what he’d just done finally hit him. “Were they good people?” He asked.

“A conference of cutting-edge cancer researchers, if I read the sign correctly,” the Master replied. The Doctor stuttered to a halt, leaning heavily into the wall for support as he felt all the air compress right out of his lungs. A half-choked sob escaped his lips before he found himself back on his knees again, sobbing into his bloody hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I’m so, so sorry.” The Master dragged him back to his feet, pleasantly assured that the Doctor would put up little resistance to a round of ‘repentance’ after he told the Master another deliciously despicable thing he’d done.

Once back onboard the TARDIS, the Master had little trouble convincing the Doctor to swallow some pills before dragging him into the shower to wash away all the evidence of his crimes. He let the water run just a little too hot and scrubbed the Doctor’s skin raw to heighten the Doctor’s reaction to his touch when they later went about ‘repenting’. The Doctor shut his eyes tight, unable to make himself look at the bloodied puddle at their feet while the Master touched him everywhere, lingering in places that would make the Doctor most uncomfortable. Unfortunately for the Master, the Doctor barely reacted to his advances, so he accelerated this course of ‘treatment’ accordingly.

“Tell me, Doctor, about a time when you hurt a stranger—perhaps even without their knowledge,” the Master said, rinsing shampoo suds out of the Doctor’s hair. The Doctor merely nodded, racking his brain for such an instance.

“Once—in my earlier years—I got a whole village decimated over my stupid ego,” the Doctor said quietly.

“Do tell.” The Master returned the showerhead to its position mounted on the wall and pushed the Doctor back against the rough, rock wall of the shower. His hands wandered up to the Doctor’s neck for a quick squeeze before settling in a tight grip on the Doctor’s hips. He kissed and nibbled at the delicate skin just above the Doctor’s collar bones.

“You know how it is,” the Doctor began. “Someone threatens someplace for some reason, and I just have to get involved and make things worse.”

“Be more specific,” the Master said, sinking his teeth into the spot where the Doctor’s shoulders and neck connected. Upon the Doctor’s crying out in response to the pain, the Master sneered, “do you want to get better or not, Doctor?”

“Yes, Master.” When he wasn’t recounting all of his failings or parroting something belittling, this was practically all the Doctor ever said anymore.

“Then say it,” the Master said.

“I want to get better, Master.” The Doctor couldn’t bear to make eye contact with the Master, so he looked down at the floor as he said it. He knew that the Master was often disappointed or cross with him these days but seeing it in his eyes broke the Doctor’s hearts. He really was trying his best to get better from whatever was afflicting him, but nothing he ever did was good enough. He kept having ‘episodes’ (as the Master referred to them) that ended in blood and death. He didn’t even know how he ended up in the places he did or what happened when he was carrying out all the horrible acts he only ever got to see the results of.

“Now tell me how you failed that village—how you were responsible for the deaths of innocents,” the Master said, his voice low, practically a sultry purr. The Doctor was more than aware of how much these ‘therapy’ sessions aroused the Master, as ‘repentance’ often quickly followed them. But the Master was the only person in the whole universe who could help him. He was the only one left. The Doctor hadn’t confessed the reason behind that just yet. He didn’t think he could.

“It was a bet—a silly bet,” he said, closing his eyes tight. He didn’t want to cry, but by the time the Master was finished with him, he surely would.

“Go on.” The Master lifted the Doctor up, only for the Doctor’s legs to instinctively wrap around his waist. They had explored this ‘outlet’ many times before. Holding the Doctor, however, also made the Master take notice of his weight. The Doctor was much lighter than the last time they’d done this, and though the Master liked how easy it was to push him around like this, he didn’t want the Doctor regenerating on him. This version of the Doctor was far too pretty to part ways with so soon—not to mention that he’d have to start this…process all over again.

“He wanted me to hunt someone down for him in exchange for the safety of the villagers—I didn’t know it was for revenge at the time, I swear I didn’t,” the Doctor said. The Master merely rolled his eyes and coated his hard cock in soap. He was well-aware that it would wash off over time, but hurting the Doctor was the point. The Doctor hissed in pain as the Master penetrated him and tried to focus on his story instead. “When I brought back the creature he was looking for, I was told she would be executed…but she hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“Unlike you, she was innocent, isn’t that right?” The Master asked. The Doctor nodded reluctantly, feeling another wave of guilt for what he’d done today. He instinctively glanced down at his hands, sighing in relief when he found that they were clean. The Doctor thought that his hands were often more bloody than clean these days, and the blood of innocents leaves a stain that doesn’t stop at the thin layers of the skin…so, he was right.

“When I wouldn’t hand her over, the village…” the Doctor bit his lip hard to keep from crying.

“ _What_ happened to the village?” The Master was getting close to the edge, but he absolutely needed to know how this story ended before then. Aside from the Doctor’s irritating reluctance to get to the best part, the Master was thoroughly enjoying this little ‘repentance’ session. The water running down his back as he fucked the Doctor felt spectacular, and he could only imagine how the Doctor was feeling pressed up against the rugged wall. His back was probably covered in scratches by now, which would make a nice whipping all the more fun later. The Master groaned at the thought of making the Doctor scream with one of his favourite whips after the impromptu shower shagging. And of course, more ‘repentance’ was liable to happen following a good whipping as the smell of the Doctor’s blood paired with the beautiful sound of his screams aroused him like nothing else. The Master gripped the Doctor’s thighs tight enough to leave bruises afterward. “Village. Tell me. Now.” The Master’s prediction about the soap washing away was starting to be realised, and the Doctor was in tremendous pain.

“His men—ah! They…they slaughtered the villagers and…and Master you’re hurting me,” the Doctor whimpered. “It hurts terribly.”

“Oh, it hurts does it?” The Master asked with faux sympathy. He lifted the Doctor off him and shoved him away from the wall. “You think it hurts?” The Doctor looked at his feet, visibly shrinking away from the Master. He knew the pain was the point, and he knew how the Master got after having to lecture him about that fact. “I wonder just how much it _hurt_ those villagers to be slaughtered, hm? How much it _hurts_ when you lose what little of your pathetic mind remains and murder indiscriminately? Don’t you think that _hurts_ , you stupid whore?” The Doctor was shaking, trembling like a scared little boy. He nodded almost imperceptibly, which only served to anger the Master more. The Master back-handed him across the face, but the Doctor merely winced, sinking to his knees as he knew was expected of him—anything to denote submission. Anything to make all this end as quickly as possible.

“Yes Master,” he said, taking care to ensure that nothing in his posture or downcast gaze was ‘acting in defiance’ to the Master’s ‘treatment’ plan. “I’ve hurt so many. I deserve this.”

“Then don’t bother me again with your poor _feelings_ ,” the Master said. “Am I understood?” The Doctor nodded quickly, hoping he hadn’t enticed the Master to extend this ‘repentance’. “Good. Nose to the floor, now.” The Doctor hunched over, pressing his hands against the cold, wet floor. He leant down close to the floor and raised his arse into the air, arching his back as much as he could. The Master pushed his thighs apart, knelt down behind him, and grabbed hold of his hair. “Finish the story. Don’t interrupt me again,” the Master whispered right into the Doctor’s ear, making the man below him shiver.

“They burnt the village to the ground,” the Doctor said, whimpering quietly as the Master pushed into him again. “Only a handful made it out, but there were found and—ah…” the Doctor trailed off, surprised by the feeling of one of the Master’s hands stroking him. Usually this whole event was purely for the Master’s pleasure. The Doctor wondered what that meant for his ever-evolving ‘treatment’. “The men tortured them to death, simply for their own enjoyment,” the Doctor said. “It was horrible.” Since the position switch, the Master’s strokes had become long and slow. He was rolling his hips with a loose grip on the Doctor’s hair and a tight grip on his cock. It felt like the Master was almost trying to tease him, which was puzzling to the Doctor.

“Horrible? You don’t seem too concerned talking about it now,” the Master said, emphasising the point by increasing the speed of the hand stroking him. The Doctor moaned softly in response, trying and failing to stop himself from bucking his hips into the Master’s grasp.

“Can’t help it, and—and you know it,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and trying his best to focus on breathing instead of what was happening to him. The Master stilled the movement of his hips, leaning down to whisper in the Doctor’s ear.

“I’ll show you something else you can’t help.”

“No!” The Doctor made to pull away but couldn’t get very far with the Master on top of him. He wiggled his hips nonetheless, trying his best to buck the Master off. “Not like this—after what I’ve said. Please.” But the Master didn’t listen, relishing in his ability to force the Doctor to bend to his will. The Master’s expert ministrations quickly had the Doctor making a mess of the granite tiles below them with a defeated whimper. Exhausted from both the events of the day and trying to fight off the Master, the Doctor slumped over—his chin on the floor and his arse in the air—and quietly accepted the Master using his body to get off.

“What do we say?” The Master whispered in the Doctor’s ear when he was finished with him.

“Thank you for your…forgiveness.”

“Even though?”

“Even though I don’t deserve it.” The Doctor pressed his forehead to the cold, wet tiles below him, feeling that he may once again cry over what he’d done that day.

“Clean yourself up,” the Master said, leaving the Doctor to do what he would in his absence. The Doctor wanted to respond but simply couldn’t find the energy to. Instead, he laid out flat on his stomach and let the warm rain from the showerhead above soothe his pain. He didn’t know how much more ‘repentance’ he could take; however, the Master was unlikely to allow him much reprieve any time soon.

After all, the Master’s ‘treatment’ had the Doctor conditioned exactly the way the Master wanted him: dependent, confused, and…pliable. 


End file.
